This week I can say I truly understand the Paschal Mystery in a real and serious way. Let me start at the beginning of our trip, on Sunday. We were scheduled to leave Boston at 1:30 or thereabouts, and we boarded on time, but spent the next three hours either at the gate, sitting on the tarmac, or idling somewhere in wait, due to a storm in Chicago, where we were due to meet our connecting flight. So, three hours of sitting before we ever got out of town. When we got into Chicago, finally, we launched out of our plane, ran through the terminal, down the escalator, through the tunnel to the other terminal, up the escalator, and to the end of that terminal. When we got there, we found out that A) our gate had been changed, and B) that the flight had left already anyway. So we went back through the terminal, down the escalator, across the tunnel, up the escalator, and went to find the line for United Airlines customer service. It was, and I kid you not, at least a quarter mile long. Someone told us there were 500 people ahead of us. Walking along that line, looking for the end of it, was one of the soul-crushingest experiences I can remember. Finally, a CS person came along and advised us to check the kiosk rather than waiting to see a real person, and so we found that we'd (fortunately!) already been rebooked by the airline for another flight, due to leave in about 2.5 hours. Guess where the new flight would be leaving from? Yep, that other terminal... in fact the one we'd gone to first.
So back we went, at least knowing we'd have time for dinner while we waited. UNfortunately, the plane at our gate (the one before ours) had a serious hold up (as in, 4 hours of waiting for their flight, and they still hadn't left by the time we did.) Since they weren't leaving, we had to change gates AGAIN, but only to one nearby. Once we got on the plane, we had to wait a while, because since our flight was SO late, one of the crew was now "illegal" and they had to wait for someone to replace her. As in, come to the airport from home.
Now here's where the Paschal Mystery comes in. I had the center seat all this time, and Scott, who I love, had an aisle seat. When we got on in Chicago, about to ride through the night to California, I had the aisle seat, and Scott had the center. He was miserable, but we had had such a rough day, and I was tired of being all cooped up, and I thought to myself "enjoy the aisle seat! He'll survive the middle, after all, I did! Why should I have to sit in the middle? After all, I was assigned this seat!"
But at one point, I heard Scott moan. Just a little mewling kind of sound, and he didn't ask for the aisle seat, but what could I do? When he got up to go to the bathroom, I took his seat.
When Scott came back to sit down, I very un-Jesus-like told him that he was a lucky man, and I was super-nice, and that he should never forget it. Ah, what can I say? I'm only human!